Indigo Prophecy: Saints & Sinners
by Witchy Bee
Summary: It wasn't like I'd walked into the diner that night expecting to become a murderer.
1. Remorse

**A/N:** Either this is going to be a collection of random scenes or a slightly AU chronological story. I'm honestly not sure yet. This is based on the video game Indigo Prophecy, or Fahrenheit as it is known outside of the United States. Enjoy!

)O(

It wasn't like I'd walked into the diner that night expecting to become a murderer. I'm not that kind of person, despite the fact that I've been questioning my sanity a lot lately. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now, I wasn't really expecting I'd get the chance to walk out of here at all. Someone would find the body any minute now. All I had to do was wait and let it happen, or I could even turn the knife on myself and it would all be over in a second. But I just kept telling myself that I was innocent. If I could just manage to get out of here everything would be okay...

I couldn't bear to touch the poor guy's body again, even though leaving him sprawled out on the restroom floor in a pool of his own blood might not have been the smartest idea. I wasn't thinking clearly. Like I said, I hadn't planned on killing anyone tonight. There were forces at work here I didn't understand. Someone or something had used me to commit a murder.

The least I could do was hide the knife. I knew the cops would find my fingerprints on it and the man's blood as well as mine. The cuts I had made on my wrists and forearms were still bleeding, and I realized I could not go out there looking like this. I examined my reflection in the mirror only to find that there were flecks of blood on my face. _His_ blood.

I turned on the tap and washed off as much of it as I could. Then I splashed cold water on my face a few times, trying to pull myself out of this state of shock. Since escaping through the window was virtually impossible, I took a deep breath and faced my destiny.

Suddenly I had this overwhelming urge to confess. I had to tell someone what I'd done, or better yet scream it to the world. I had to do something. That was when I spotted a payphone just a few feet away. Maybe if I called my apartment Tiffany would pick up and I could warn her or...Oh, that's right, she wouldn't be there now. We broke up almost a month ago; she'd said that she needed to be alone for a while and figure some things out. I didn't know exactly what that meant, I still don't, honestly.

All I knew was that I missed her more and more each day.

The only other person I could think of was my brother, Markus, whom I hadn't seen since he'd become a priest two years ago. It had driven a wedge between us. I think on some level I envied him for being able to have faith in something even after our parents died. But I knew he would believe that I was innocent.

I deposited a quarter into the payphone and dialed his number, hoping I still remembered it. Then I waited and listened for my brother's voice. I don't know what I would have said to him. I'm sure it would have sounded crazy. Looking back, I'm thankful he didn't answer.

But I left a message anyway.

"Markus, it's Lucas, uh...your brother? Please call me back soon."

I quickly hung up the phone and headed for the front door. When I saw a cop sitting at the counter, my heart began to race. There was no time. He knew what a guilty man looked like and was certain I fit the part.

"Sir," the waitress called out, sounding annoyed. "You forgot to pay your bill."

It took a moment for me to realize that she was talking to me. I apologized and returned to my table, as if in a daze. Then I reached into my wallet blindly and tossed some money on the table. I didn't look to see how much it was, maybe twenty dollars or a hundred. It didn't matter anyway.

After that I left the diner as fast as I could without actually running. It wasn't until I got outside that I started running. Unfortunately, I lived too far away to run home, otherwise I probably would have. So instead I ran to the nearest subway station and descended the stairs into the dark underground of New York City. Only then did I allow myself to catch my breath as I waited for the train that would take me back to Brooklyn.

As I sat there on the train I could feel the other passengers' eyes on me. It was like they knew exactly what I'd done. Maybe they did. Part of me was still clinging to the notion that this was all just some terrible nightmare, and I would wake up in the morning and go to work just like any other day.

That notion could not have been further from the truth.


	2. Motives

I don't pretend to know why people kill each other. Tyler says it's not our job to understand the psychos, just to lock them up. Maybe he's right. But no, it is never that simple. There must always be a motive.

Some people say I work too hard and care too little. I've seen a lot of murders after five years on the force. The fact is, you eventually start to get numb to it all. It's not that I don't feel sympathy for the victim and his family; there were many nights that I used to cry myself to sleep wondering how anyone could be capable of such horrible crimes. But I learned that to catch a killer, you have to be just as cold and calculating as he is. It gives you an edge.

Unlike Tyler, who plays around like this is all a game. I know he takes his job seriously. That's just his way of escaping the harsh reality of seeing a woman that somewhat resembles his fiancé raped and left for dead. That kind of thing gets to him, though he doesn't show it often, and neither do I for that matter.

I honestly didn't know what to expect as the car pulled up outside of _Doc's Diner_ that cold January night. You never truly are prepared for the things you see on the job. The training is a start but not even that can prepare you. It's almost like the psychos do this simply to mess with us, deliberately making their victims suffer increasingly horrible deaths. And just when you get used to it, the moment it numbs you, there is something worse. There is always something worse. There is always someone out there who is more deranged than the last.

And yet, this man didn't seem to have suffered. I wouldn't until the autopsy, but it appeared the killer had stabbed him three times in the chest, possibly even severing a major artery. There was a great deal of blood, but compared to most it was a fairly clean kill.

Tyler remarked that the victim still had his credit card and all his money with him. So that had not been the suspect's motivation. This is when Tyler suggested that the guy was just a psycho like any other. I had my own theories, but I couldn't be sure of anything until I read the autopsy report and got some lab results back. We would have to solve this case as if it were a puzzle, one piece at a time.

A pot of coffee sat on the counter, half-empty or maybe half-full depending on how you thought of it. I poured myself a cup and scanned the restaurant for my partner, figuring he might also need a healthy dose of caffeine about now. I expected to find him fiddling with the jukebox or something equally idiotic, and this coming from a woman who keeps a yo-yo in her desk drawer because it helps her think, but Tyler wasn't doing anything like that. He was talking to someone on the payphone.

"All right, baby, go back to sleep now." he was saying, "I'll be there when you wake up, I promise." He hung up and turned to me. My first instinct was to muse about the possibility that the killer had called someone from that phone, but I decided that just this once I would be more sympathetic than that. Tyler wasn't just my partner, after all, he was also my friend.

"How is Samantha?" I asked. It took him a moment to answer; he hadn't been expecting the question.

"Oh. Uh, sh-she's fine. Just...been a little sick, is all. Gettin' over a bad cold, you know?"

"Yeah, who isn't these days?" I remarked. "You want some coffee?"

Tyler smiled. "Thanks, Carla," he said. I don't know if he was referring to the coffee or the conversation.

Then my mind returned to the case. I still had no motive, and our only witness was a visibly shaken waitress who had seen a suspicious person leave the diner right before the body was found. He was the last person to see the victim alive. All I knew about our killer was that he was a potential psycho who enjoyed reading Shakespeare.

The pieces to the puzzle just didn't seem to fit together yet. How I wish there was an easy answer to the question of who killed John Winston and, for that matter, why people kill other people in the first place.


	3. Sleep

"Has anyone contacted the family yet?" Carla asked me as I drove back to the station through the snow and ice.

"Not that I know of." I said, but then she gave me this look that I knew all too well. I sighed. "All right, I'll handle it. But you will have to deal with this kind of thing sometime, you know."

We both stayed silent after that.

It's always quieter at the station around this hour. Most people have already gone home, I guess. I think it's too quiet but Carla insists it helps her think clearer. And uure enough, the second we arrived at our office, she took off her coat and sat down at her desk. I watched her from across the room, feverishly typing away on the computer. She was a true goddess of work ethic. How she managed it, I'd never know.

Carla could do anything, it seemed, and yet she fell to pieces when faced with talking to victims' families, the very people we were trying to get justice for.

I was happy to help in any small way that I could. Although, part of me knew that I was putting it off.

By six in the morning I had yet to make the call.

It hit me that the victim's wife was probably waking up and realizes that her husband never came to bed. Sam was probably thinking the same thing. She was always worrying that I would get hurt or killed on the job. I had to do what was right here, so I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

It rang only once before someone answered.

"Hello? John, is that you?" a woman's voice asked.

"No, ma'am. Is this Mrs. Winston?"

"Yes..." she confirmed, and I could hear the panic in her voice. "Who is this?"

"My name is Tyler Miles and I'm a detective with the DYPD. I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news about your husband. . ."

)O(

I'd assured Mrs. Winston that we were not going to rest until we found the killer, but my shift ended not long after that and I for one needed some rest.

I let myself into the apartment which was dark since the curtains were closed and the sun didn't ever seem to come out anyway. Sam was curled up in bed wearing nothing but one of my basketball jerseys. She had her back turned to me.

After stripping down to my boxers, I slipped under the covers beside her, careful not to accidentally wake Sam up. I thought that I was in the clear.

"You didn't keep your promise..." she murmured.

It had been almost a year since my last cigarette but I could sure as hell use one at that moment. I tried closing my eyes, hoping that sleep would follow, but all I could see was the blood staining the tile of that diner. I knew my girl had more harsh words for me but all I could hear was Mrs. Winston's hysterics. I knew that in just a few short hours Carla would be calling with new revelations, theories and the latest updates. Then she'd order me to get my ass to work so we could debrief or whatever.

Most of all, I knew that none of us were going to be able to rest until this case was solved.

Sometimes I thought my life would he a whole lot easier if people didn't go around killing each other.

But it was my job to put the psychos away and make the streets safer for people and their families, as well as Sam and the family I might have someday.


End file.
